


Burnout

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, this is mainly just fluff but theres a bit of self-deprecation and overworking so. dshfkdfh, uhh enjoy!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: Roman hasn’t left his room in three days, and Virgil is pissed.orA brainstorming session gets a bit out of hand and Virgil has to rescue his prince from his own imagination.





	Burnout

**Author's Note:**

> a request from @faacethefacts on tumblr!!!! Hope you enjoy!

It had been three days

Three days since he’d last woken to hear Roman loudly serenading the whole house as he got ready for the day. Three days since the last time he’d gotten roped into an impromptu Disney Movie Night. Three days since the last teasing remark or joking nickname. Three days since Roman had locked himself in his room for a “brainstorming session” and three days since the last time anyone had seen him.

Three days of silence. Three days of  _nothing._

Virgil was going out of his mind.

He sat alone in the commons, his leg bouncing anxiously as he tried to focus on anything but their missing prince. It was too quiet, way too quiet; no amount of overly-loud music, blasting through his headphones, could protect against the silence spreading through the room like a disease, the silence left behind in Roman’s absence.

The mindscape felt empty without him there; without his loud, boisterous singing, without his over-dramatic outbursts, without his _life_ to fill the silence. Logan sat up in his room, quietly putting together a schedule for when the prince returned, and though Patton hummed cheerfully to himself as he cooked dinner, his music felt lackluster, hollow without Roman’s lyrical accompaniment.

His leg bounced faster.

How long did it take to  _brainstorm_ , anyway? He’d never taken this long in the past.  _Maybe he’s hurt,_  Virgil thought, tapping anxiously against the side of his phone.  _Maybe his imagination got out of his control and he ended up getting hurt o-or the dragon-witch got him or maybe Deceit found him or —_

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a huff of nervous breath when his bangs fell back in his face, his foot tapping faster and faster. His thoughts spiraled and whirled and he bit his lip, a bad feeling blooming in his chest.  _He’s fine,_  he told his thoughts, to which they replied  _but what if he isn’t?_

“Kiddos, dinner!”

Somehow, this was worse than the silence; sitting around the dinner-table and watching as Patton glanced back towards the stairs every so often throughout their conversation, as though wondering if Roman would make it for dinner, his empty chair infuriating in the way it kept him from thinking about anything else. He speared bits of asparagus with his fork as though they’d personally wronged him, his stomach churning with nervousness and frustration. And finally, when Patton’s eyes lingered on the staircase as though imagining Roman bounding down them, he’d had enough.

“That’s _it._ ” He stood, his chair scraping against the kitchen floor with an awful squeak. He ignored Logan’s questioning look, Patton’s small noise of confusion, and stomped his way up the stairs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Resolve hardened in his chest as he stopped in front of the ruby-red door to the Imagination; he had a prince to save from a  _goddamn brainstorm._

He shoved the door open, and raised an eyebrow when he was met with the sight of a regular — if messy — bedroom rather than the vast, beautiful kingdom of the Imagination. The floor was littered with hundreds of crumpled sheets of paper and the remains of pencils snapped in two; and he sat at a desk piled high with stacks of paper against the far wall, his face scrunched up in frustration as he scribbled down ideas.

“Roman,” he said.

“Ah!” Roman jumped at the sudden voice, accidentally sending a pile of ideas sliding to the ground. He frantically jumped to his feet, running a hand through his mussed hair and reached down to fix his rumpled outfit. “A-ah, Virgil! What brings you here, Gerard Gay?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, glancing over the hundreds of piles scattered throughout the room. He could practically feel the creative burnout in the air, his eyes roaming over every crumpled sheet of crossed-out ideas. “It’s been  _three days,_  Roman. Why are you still in here?”

“Inspiration waits for no man, Virgil!” he said, and Virgil  _almost_ couldn’t hear the layers of exhaustion and frustration hidden deep beneath the thick veneer of confidence in Roman’s voice.

“Yeah? Well, neither do I.” He fixed Roman with a flat glare, taking in every little detail, every telltale sign of burnout. “You have enough ideas, Princey. You need to take a break.”

Roman scoffed. “Our deadlines are approaching, Virge. I would have thought  _you_  of all people would want us to be ahead of schedule!” He glanced back at his desk, at the half-finished sheet of ideas left abandoned, and for a split second, his face flashed with painful exhaustion. “You should go, I still have work to do.”

 _“Hell_  no. You’ve already done more than enough work, idiot,” he said, stepping carefully through the minefield of discarded ideas to get closer to Roman.

“No, I haven’t! I still have to outline at  _least_  five more videos, and of  _course_  there’s the script for the new sides video, and —”

“Roman, when was the last time you ate?”

“ — and I have to start working on a new song, and — uh.” He stopped, registering the question, and suddenly he wouldn’t meet Virgil’s eyes, and that was all the proof Virgil needed. “Virge, look, **I’m _fine_ ,** okay? Please go, I must get back to work.”

“I’m not leaving without you, princey. You’ve worked enough —”

“No! You’re — you’re not understanding!” He shoved his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, obviously forcing himself to stand tall. “I am the creativity! I have to keep making ideas. I can't…” A break in his armor, a crack in his carefully-confident voice, and suddenly freezing guilt was blooming in Virgil’s stomach. “I can’t let you all down.”

“Roman, you absolute  _idiot,”_  he said, when a thousand apologies and reprimands died on his tongue. Roman’s face flickered between annoyance and weariness and eventually settled on something unreadable as Virgil continued. “You… you don’t have to overwork yourself for us, okay?”

“But —”

“But nothing, princey. You’ve done more than enough. You’ve probably got enough ideas here for the next hundred deadlines!” He gestured at the mess of papers around them, and Roman floundered, opening and closing his mouth again and again as he tried to come up with a comeback.

“No,  _no,_  none of these ideas are good enough!” he said finally, cutting Virgil off before he could continue. “They have to be perfect, l-like me!”

“And how the hell do you expect to achieve ‘perfection’ or whatever when you haven’t even eaten in three days? You know, ignoring the fact that true perfection is damn near impossible to achieve.” Roman’s uncaring facade faltered at the fire in Virgil’s tone. “Your ideas are good enough, moron. You could never let us down.”

“I —” He deflated, his tone betraying every ounce of exhaustion he felt. “I suppose… I could use… a break…” he said finally, refusing to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“Damn straight,” Virgil replied, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

“Wha — never!”

“Damn gay?”

“Better.” A ghost of a smile lit up his face as he hesitantly stepped towards Virgil, and the two laced their hands together. “Hey, Finding Emo?” he asked as they approached the door, his cheeks dusted with a bright-red blush.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

And together, the two walked out of the Imagination.


End file.
